


god bless catastrophe

by 17603



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Praise Kink, Public Hand Jobs, Touch-Starved, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 08:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21176390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/17603/pseuds/17603
Summary: Larry wants to reach out and pry them apart, wants to corner Orange over at the bar and tell him to be careful because if Larry is bad news, Vic is worse.





	god bless catastrophe

Vic's been touching Orange a lot tonight, and it's pissing Larry off.

He's leaning on the bar close to him, putting a hand on his back or an arm over his chair or shoulders, ruffling his hair, stealing his cigarette right out of his mouth and taking a long drag before replacing it, fingers brushing his lips. Larry knows their thighs are pressed together under the table, and every now and then Vic will look at him over the top of the scruffy sandy head and smirk. Orange is so obviously lonely (the wedding ring is so transparently bullshit), he lights up whenever someone pays attention to him, leans into every touch, and smiles easy even when he shouldn't.

On Vic's other side, Eddie's been rolling his eyes and sighing, and White caught the mutter of "stop playing with your fuckin food". He knows what Vic's like, knows his reputation and, well, to carry the metaphor, he's a messy eater. Orange doesn't have enough to him to get that kind of bite taken out of him and live. It's occured to Larry that Vic's putting on a show, that he could care less about the kid and what he really wants is to piss Larry off, maybe poke the bear a bit with Nice Guy Eddie too - fuck knows or cares what's going on between those two psychopaths.

Larry's spent the day with Orange, and maybe Vic heard something in his voice when he said it was a good day, he's a good kid, he likes him. And he does. There's something different, something soft and sweet that a life of minor crime hasn't managed to crush out of him. Larry gets the impression that he's alone a lot, maybe from out of town, maybe he's just quiet - the way he grins at Larry, looks at him with wide-eyed seriousness, is so fucking eager to fit in, it just screams  _ kid _ rather than  _ tough guy _ .

That space cadet bathroom story was mildly amusing, but what made it funny was how into it the kid was, waving his hands around and grinning all manic. Maybe every word was true, maybe it's a big fish tale, probably doesn't matter. He got their attention, and Larry's not the only one who's curious to see what he does with it.

Vic's attention probably wasn't the kind the kid was aiming to catch though.

Larry knows that if Vic actually wanted Orange, he'd already be fucking him in the alleyway. Vic's got an awful charm, an awful savage animal appeal that hides very sharp claws, and he gets what he wants. If he wanted Orange, he'd have his face pressed against the bricks with those loose jeans half down in about five minutes flat. As it is, he just seems to want to toy with him, and Orange obviously doesn't mind, grinning up at him and putting an arm around his waist when he's squeezed close. The leather jacket finds its way onto the back of his chair and he's clearly got no idea what he looks like, skinny fish-eyed boy curling against a broad-shouldered man with a shark smile. Larry wants to reach out and pry them apart, wants to corner Orange over at the bar and tell him to be careful because if Larry is bad news, Vic is worse, and he wants to put his arm over those narrow shoulders and have the kid grin up at him, wants the weight of anticipation and legs pressed hot together under the table.

The kid says something goofy and Vic pulls him close and kisses his forehead, makes sure to wink and Larry over the top of his head, and Larry is just about ready to punch him.

In the middle of this, Joe saunters up and takes a seat at the other end of the table, between Blue and Eddie. Pink and Brown are on Larry's other side having some stupid bullshit conversation about a movie neither of them have seen but feel the need to respectively deride and defend. Larry has seen the film and they're both fucking wrong about it, but he doesn't care enough to say, so he just lets them squabble and tips the remaining drips of bourbon from side to side in his glass. It's mostly water now. When Orange gets up to go to the bathroom, Vic sees him off with a hand in the small of his back and smirks smirks smirks, smug with slicked back hair and cold eyes. White moves into Orange's chair with a smirk of his own and leans forward like he's listening to Joe and Eddie's conversation. Not his smoothest move, but not the worst either.

When Orange comes back he heads for White's open chair, but Vic swings around and catches him by the waist, pulls him onto his lap with one possessive arm across his stomach. He ends up sitting facing sideways, knees against Larry's leg, looking out from under his hair with pink cheeks and a sheepish little grin like he knows it's all ridiculous, like he knows he's being used and kinda doesn't mind. Larry offers him a cigarette and the kid cups his hand to steady the light, fingers warm across his knuckles and thumb sliding down Larry's to the heel of his hand.

"Having a good night?" he asks, and Orange blows a wobbly smoke ring.

"Could be worse," he says, then leans forward a bit and murmurs "could be better too."

Larry grins when one sneakered foot brushes up his calf. "Yeah, how could it be?"

Vic makes a rumbling noise and jerks his leg up so Orange tips back suddenly, then reaches around and steals his cigarette right out of his mouth. The kid squeaks with surprise and grabs at Larry for balance, then Larry's got one hand on his thigh and the other around one thin wrist, and the sound of a throat clearing freezes them all.

"If you two are done fighting over the twink," Joe says, and Larry knows from the tone of voice he's currently amused but patience is waning. The kid goes bright red and wriggles back upright. Vic loosens his grip but doesn't let go fully, just enough for Orange to shuffle forward so he's only sitting on one leg.

Larry offers him another cigarette, lights it for him and drops his hand to rest on his thigh, brushes a thumb over the fly of his jeans and is gratified when his legs twitch. Vic's arm tightens again, but Orange pushes back against it and doesn't move, stays perched on the edge. Larry decides that now he's got his attention, the kid should sweat it for a little while, so he leaves his hand there and interrupts Pink and Brown to tell them what fucking idiots they are. Orange leans forward and appears to be listening, but every now and then Larry squeezes his crotch, keeps to irregular intervals, and it's not long til he can feel how hard he is so he doubts his mind is on anything else but his dick and Larry's hand. Perfect.

"What do you think, kid?" He asks him, and Orange starts, deer in the headlights expression on his face and mouth slightly open.

"Um," he says, eyes flicking between them. "I, uh," licks his lips, "what was the question?"

Brown repeats it. Pink rolls his eyes. Larry grins and squeezes him again, tries not to be too smug at the poleaxed expression on his face.

Orange stutters out something vaguely relevant and is rewarded with a longer squeeze that almost turns into a rub. The conversation carries on. Vic doesn't release him, doesn't seem to have noticed. Larry does it again, this time makes fun of him for not listening and grins at the blush, but doesn't follow up. The third time, Orange replies right away, then looks at Larry, eyes wide.

He wants his approval, and it's fucking adorable.

When Larry rubs his dick this time, he also murmurs "good boy" just low enough that he's pretty sure no one else heard, and the expression on the kid's face is perfect.

After a while of this back and forth, when the kid's getting too antsy and shifting in a way that might turn Vic's attention back to them, he asks "you want another drink," and heads over to the bar. Orange disentangles himself from a distracted Vic and follows, leans against the gouged wood with one hip cocked and gives White a look that's part shy, part filthy.

"Bourbon?" Larry asks him, and Orange nods, though he gets the impression that he could have asked him basically anything, offered him a chocolate milk and petrol cocktail and gotten agreement. He's tucked his hard dick up into the waistband of his jeans, but if you look, if you know what you're looking for, you can see it.

When the barman hands over their drinks, Larry steps close, holds one out but not too far, and fingers brush his when Orange takes it. There's this expectation hanging between them, he's gotta say something or the opportunity will pass and Orange will go back to his empty chair and the night will wind down and they'll both go home and never talk about it again, but he can't quite get a fix on the words. Joe looms suddenly behind Orange, claps a hand on his back and the kid nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Junior," he says jovially, "what'd you think of Mister Orange here?"

"He's a good boy," he says, quiet so they both lean to hear, "learns real quick."

Orange licks his lips, two top teeth worrying the bottom one.

"Do you think he's up to it?"

Larry takes a sip of his drink and moves to put an arm around the narrow shoulders. "I think he's up to anything, smart kid, he'll do real good." Orange is practically trembling, his skin is all goosebumps under Larry's hand, and as Joe moves away, he says "such a good boy," low enough that he knows only Orange heard.

Later, he's going to leave and Orange will follow him, let himself be led, and Larry's going to see how quick this kid really learns. He's got no doubts it'll be fast, and he's looking forward to telling him what a good boy he is when he's on his knees, on his back, falling asleep tucked under Larry's arm. It'll be fun, and if it's more than that (and his instincts say it will be), he's gonna turn to him in the warehouse after they're all done and tell him "I'm Larry" and get a name in response. They'll go down to Mexico and he'll get to hear the kid whine his real name when he fucks him, they'll drive down the coast and laugh about these stupid aliases and the hunted look he's seen on the narrow face will fade out as a bit of a tan fades in. It might not last, he's not a dumb romantic (any more), but something goes tight in his chest at the thought that it might be good for a while.


End file.
